Just Get Away

When our guys were boys, we were huge fans of 
a well-placed Get Away. 
Because, of course, there was so much to  get away from, like: 

* Non-sensical bickering about who touched what first, and 
the never-ending argument about who looked at whom

* Dirty socks which multiplied, somehow, under the couch, and their companions ... 
dirty dishes, dirty sheets, dirty looks, dirty pets, dirty feet—DIRT.

* Conversations which started like these—
"You used my toothbrush for WHAT?"
"Please do not lick the door handle."
"Don't touch your brothers butt."
"That's too high. It's too high! Stop!"

Things are not the same, these days.
I won't say that we don't need the well-timed Get Away like we 
used to, because we still definitely do. It's just that the intensity of 
mid-life  is pressure of a different kind. We no longer 
 run (screaming) from our home trailing 
gummy worms and wet wipes. 

Now we struggle to make room in our over-stuffed schedules
and hatch complicated plots regarding the comings and goings of 
the other people who live here.
The same ones who used to lick doorknobs.

But it's worth it to enjoy soothing fountains like this one, 
 long conversations while holding hands, 
and antique mall smooching.

What's your favorite place for a Get-Away?